


Sweethearts and Marshmallows

by adrift_me



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Christmas, Credence's first hot cocoa, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 05:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Credence thinks about how people say that Christmas is the time of wonders and gifts. How it’s the time miracles happen and the winds of change blow. And, perhaps, people are not so wrong, Credence thinks, nodding at Mr. Graves with a warm smile.“I’d like that a lot, Mr. Graves. Quite a lot.”





	Sweethearts and Marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

> I had a one-word prompt "Winter" and suddenly a Christmas ficlet was born :)  
> Note #1: This fic is vague.  
> Note #2: Please, in real life, be careful accepting offers from strangers 5 minutes after meeting :D
> 
>  
> 
> [I take prompts on tumblr :)](accio-toffy.tumblr.com)

Many times Credence heard people say that Christmas is a time of wonders and gifts. He can see it in every window he passes, in every stranger’s face - that subtle joy that softens their smiles and makes their eyes glow a little. They are also so much more generous, wishing him a Merry Christmas and taking leaflets out of his frozen hands much more willingly.

He is grateful. The sooner the leaflets will disappear from his hold, the sooner he can get to the church and rest in the peace and quiet, listening to the distant caroling of your choirs. He can almost hear their voices in his head as he drifts in a daydream, when--

“Oh, my apologies!”

He is nearly knocked back by someone. Leaflets slide out of his hands and scatter around the street, soaking in dirty snow. Credence’s heart clenches in horror,  _ Ma will be mad _ . 

“I’m so sorry, young man. Let me help you,” the man who stumbled into Credence says and kneels down to gather the leaflets. Credence stands there baffled and bewildered, even forgetting that he is supposed to be gathering the leaflets too.

But he can’t. He stares down at the man who is wrong for so many reasons. His voice, when he spoke, had no scold. He wasn’t accusing Credence who was at fault for daydreaming. Instead, he apologized and was now kneeling over the snow, collecting the pamphlets.

The stranger rises and hands them over to Credence. He in return thinks, that those leaflets scattered far too beyond the man’s reach, and yet he managed to somehow return them and quickly.

“Here. Please, accept my apologies. I was lost in thought and didn’t notice you. Merry Christmas!”

Credence’s face all but burns now from all the kind words and apologies. He fears to look up, but he does anyway, eager to see what kind of face a man can have, the first man in existence to show him kindness.

He meets the stranger’s eyes and can look away no more.

He looks down upon him and Credence thinks he has never seen a man more beautiful, with the eyes of a hunter and a smile of a priest. He is old, or mature rather, emanates the feeling of perfect authority and wisdom.

“Name is Percival Graves,” the man introduces himself suddenly and Credence looks away, eyes wide. “It’s a Christmas Eve, don’t you have anywhere better to be?”

“No,” Credence says simply, gripping on the leaflet stack.

“You don’t look like a street urchin. Surely, there is a place for you to stay at.”

“No, sir. My Ma and sister are at the service and my younger sister is with her old family. I was…”

_ Punished _ . He can’t say it out loud, not to himself nor to this man. Mr. Graves looks around a little and then gifts Credence a small smile.

“Would it be a strange offer if I invited you to have a dinner with me? You see, I too have nowhere to be this eve. And I would like to make up to you for this.”

He gestures in the air, indicating the incident. Credence’s gaze darts to Mr. Graves’ in shock, for he can’t believe this man exists. It would be silly, dangerous even, to agree to such an offer, and he probably shouldn’t anyway, but before he knows it, his mouth decides otherwise.

“I’d like that,” he replies all of a sudden, shocked at himself. Mr. Graves smiles and turns to offer Credence his arm. Credence hesitates, barely, and joins his arm with Mr. Graves'.

***

The diner they arrive to is not too far. Credence has seen it several times before, passed by to warm by the soft draughts coming from the inside and to smell the freshly cooked food from the waiters’ trays.

Mr. Graves lets Credence slide into a booth not far from a roaring fireplace. The place is incredibly warm and smells so sweet, Credence can almost taste it. There aren’t many people in this place, mostly sweethearts holding hands and swapping giftboxes. Credence feels odd for looking at them and instead stares at his hands, placed neatly on his knees. Mr. Graves folds his massive warm coat and places it on the seat before relaxing on the opposite side of the booth.

“Would you tell me your name?” he smiles.

“It’s Credence, sir.”

Mr. Graves hums in acknowledgement.

“Well now, Credence, let’s get your warm, shall we?”

The man orders a large mug of hot cocoa for Credence and a smaller cup of coffee with something in it for himself.

A smiling waitress places the steaming mug before Credence just a few minutes later and he hovers his face over it cautiously. The drink is dark brown and swirling a little, steam rising over it thick and warm. There is a spoon beside the cup and it has elegant intricate carving. Credence takes the spoon and carefully, trying not to let this Mr. Graves see, traces the carving.

“Something tells me you have never tried cocoa before,” the man says, taking a sip of his coffee and smiling even wider. Credence can tell there’s a drop of alcohol in it from the slight smell of whiskey.

“No, Mr. Graves. I haven’t.”

“Well, I feel honoured to be your first… I mean, to be the first one to offer you…” Mr. Graves, much to Credence’s surprise, stutters and blushes, then waves a hand in the air. “What I mean to say, is that I’m glad to give you a chance to try it.”

Credence watches the man busy himself with his coffee, blush creeping upon his soft cheeks. Credence can’t help a tiny smile before turning attention to the drink.

Hot cocoa is wonderful, he concludes. It burns his mouth nicely, gently, and it slides over his tongue in sweet touch. Credence makes another sip, feeling the steam warm his frozen cheeks and the hot surface of the cup - his hands. He encircles the cup, holds it close and tight as if it can channel the warmth into his entire body.

Mr. Graves looks at him oddly. Credence flushes. Has he done something wrong? Perhaps, it’s polite to drink cocoa with that carved spoon and not right from the mug? Or maybe he is just so awkward, having never been out in fancy cafes and diners before?

Panic rises inside him and he clenches and unclenches fists.

“Credence.”

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his hand, a gaze catching his eyes and a soft word calming his worrisome mind.

It’s Mr. Graves. Credence wants to run away from the gentle hold, not because he is scared of it, but because he loves how it feels. His hands has never been held in such a manner before. Sure, Modesty holds his hand always, but this… is different. Mr. Graves rubs his fingerpads and makes him feel warm. His hold is gentle and reassuring.

“Credence,” he repeats and Credence melts into his voice. What is happening to him? “Let me help you for a moment.”

“Help me?” Credence looks away hesitantly.

“You have cocoa over your mouth.”

And now he sure does feel like the ground could swallow him right away. He tries to wipe his mouth with a free hand, but Mr. Graves is there first, napkin in a hand.

He reaches out to Credence who is too shocked to move away. He feels a soft touch of the napkin, taking away cocoa leftovers. And feels a brush of Mr. Graves’ fingers on his cheek. Before he can learn what it feels like properly, the touch is gone, and so is Mr. Graves’ hand from his own.

“I hope you would consider it a proper Christmas present,” he says, back to drinking his coffee. Credence can see his cheeks grow even redder. “If… I see you again in the following months, perhaps, next Christmas I could get you something more substantial and up to your tastes. If you are willing, of course.”

Credence thinks back to when people say how Christmas is the time of wonders and gifts. How it’s the time miracles happen and the winds of change blow. And, perhaps, people are not so wrong, Credence thinks, nodding at Mr. Graves with a warm smile.

“I’d like that a lot, Mr. Graves. Quite a lot.”


End file.
